melancholy murmur.
I looked at Jem, who was looking at Zeebo from the corners of his eyes. I didn’t
believe it either, but we had both heard it.
Reverend Sykes then called on the Lord to bless the sick and the suffering, a
procedure no different from our church practice, except Reverend Sykes directed
the Deity’s attention to several specific cases.
His sermon was a forthright denunciation of sin, an austere declaration of the
motto on the wall behind him: he warned his flock against the evils of heady
brews, gambling, and strange women. Bootleggers caused enough trouble in the
Quarters, but women were worse. Again, as I had often met it in my own church,
I was confronted with the Impurity of Women doctrine that seemed to preoccupy
all clergymen.
Jem and I had heard the same sermon Sunday after Sunday, with only one
exception. Reverend Sykes used his pulpit more freely to express his views on
individual lapses from grace: Jim Hardy had been absent from church for five
Sundays and he wasn’t sick; Constance Jackson had better watch her ways—she
was in grave danger for quarreling with her neighbors; she had erected the only
spite fence in the history of the Quarters.
Reverend Sykes closed his sermon. He stood beside a table in front of the pulpit
and requested the morning offering, a proceeding that was strange to Jem and me.
One by one, the congregation came forward and dropped nickels and dimes into a
black enameled coffee can. Jem and I followed suit, and received a soft, “Thank
you, thank you,” as our dimes clinked.
To our amazement, Reverend Sykes emptied the can onto the table and raked the
coins into his hand. He straightened up and said, “This is not enough, we must
have ten dollars.”
The congregation stirred. “You all know what it’s for—Helen can’t leave those
children to work while Tom’s in jail. If everybody gives one more dime, we’ll
have it—” Reverend Sykes waved his hand and called to someone in the back of
the church. “Alec, shut the doors. Nobody leaves here till we have ten dollars.”
Calpurnia scratched in her handbag and brought forth a battered leather coin
purse. “Naw Cal,” Jem whispered, when she handed him a shiny quarter, “we can